


valley of plenty

by the_bisexual_disaster



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action, Brienne of Tarth/Margaery Tyrell (mentioned), Canonical Character Death, F/M, Mentions of PTSD, The Witcher AU, Violence, Will add characters as story progresses, callmekevin voice: today we're doing something a little bit different, gendrya bigbang 2020, maybe a hint of smut, past Arya Stark/Meera Reed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_bisexual_disaster/pseuds/the_bisexual_disaster
Summary: “You’re the mage, correct?” she demanded.“Well, I am a mage. Pretty sure I’m not the only one,” he remarked snidely.She sighed. “You’re Gendry?”He scoffed at the way she spoke to him. It could have been the fact that she was covered in her companion’s blood or the fact that she looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks, but with the day he’d been having, he took her tone of voice to mean something entirely different.“Yes, m’lady. How may I help you?”
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 51
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

Arya knelt by the stream, the crisp morning air brushing past her bare arms and making her shiver. As a child, she always thought herself to be immune from the cold, but an unfortunate incident with a rather thin patch of ice a few years ago made her change her mind. 

It had been nearly a week since she’d last slept.

As she rode, she drifted off too often for comfort but no matter how hard she tried to rest at night, sleep would not come. It wasn’t rare that she’d go nights without sleep because of some reason or another, but it was strange to her that she’d gone this long without a good night’s rest and she was beginning to miss it in a way. She knew she wouldn’t be much help to anyone if she didn’t sleep and soon, so she began to seek out remedies. Most of the maesters and mages she spoke to didn’t have any solution to offer her that she hadn’t tried before or that didn’t dull her senses, something she refused to do under the best circumstances. Shockingly, it was one of her companions that gave her an answer to her problems in the form of a joke.

Genies, formally known as djinns, were spirits that were held in jars with their seals on the lid. If you released them, they were at your bidding and would offer you three wishes. Three times they would do whatever your heart desired, and then they would return to the woods in which they were found to become a benevolent spirit. 

Arya didn’t know what she would do with the other two wishes. All she wanted to do now was sleep. She was one moment away from walking up to the nearest person and having them knock her unconscious so that she might get a little rest. 

She asked around and learned of a rumour that said there was a genie living in the bed of a stream by a double-forked tree. It took her nearly an entire day to find the right tree. By the time she found the correct landmark, night had fallen and it was pointless to search when there was no light to search by. She once again tried and failed to get some rest and as soon as the sun was high enough in the sky, she started her search again.

She looked for the genie’s home as she fished for her breakfast. She ended up catching several fish, more than she usually did when she purposefully looked for food, but she still couldn’t find the jar. It was nearly midday, and Arya was getting frustrated. She was taking a break and finishing her lunch when she heard unsteady footsteps and an offkey tune coming near her.

Theon.

Of course he would manage to stumble on her in the woods. It was a good thing she wasn’t trying to hunt, otherwise he’d have scared off all the surrounding wildlife with his infernal noises and she’d probably have ended up killing him accidentally.

He was piss drunk too. Arya didn’t know why she was surprised. At this point, it was just another part of his personality. Theon wouldn’t have been caught dead without a drink in his hand or a pretty young girl at his side. It all made him that much more unbearable.

Despite her best efforts, she could not get rid of him. He clung to her whenever their paths crossed. She’d tried over and over again to avoid him but he kept finding her and following her anywhere she went until he grew bored anyways. He constantly complained about how dull her lifestyle was. So he’d go off and follow some pretty lass until he grew bored of what he was doing with her and moved on. He never stayed still but he hated travelling. On many occasions, Arya had ended up punching him because he wouldn’t stop talking. 

Once she heard him coming, she stayed still and silent. It was no use. Even drunk, he still had a good attention to detail that she couldn’t begin to comprehend.

“Ah, Arya! My old friend!” Theon exclaimed. “How long has it been?”

“Not long enough, in my opinion,” she muttered under her breath, hoping he didn’t hear what she said. If he did, she’d never hear the end of it.

“Well, I have some important news,” he prattled on. Theon always had important news.

Arya rolled her eyes. “What now?”

“The stunning Lady of Highgarden, the fair Garden Rose and the love of my life, has left me. And so, now I am on the road yet again searching for a new purpose,” he sighed, groaning dramatically for effect. “And what brings you to this lovely forest so early in the morning?”

_Lovely forest?_

“I’m looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“ _Something._ ”

“Alright then, keep your secrets.” He leaned back against a rock and pulled out a wineskin, taking a long pull and smacking his lips in satisfaction. After that, he was silent and Arya was grateful for it.

His silence was short lived. It wasn’t long before she heard his unsteady, lumbering steps coming up from behind her. She sighed in exasperation.

“What, Theon?” Arya snapped.

“You can trust me with whatever you’re looking for, you know,” he whispered loudly in a poor, drunk man’s attempt to be quiet. He lowered his voice for dramatic effect. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m still not telling you,” she replied, a taut smile on her face.

“You’re no fun,” he pouted. “No fun at all.” He stumbled back to his rock and plopped himself down, quieting once again.

She fiddled with the net she was using and realized it was snagged on something. She pulled harder and whatever the net was caught on finally came free. She pulled the net out of the water to examine the object, thinking it might be yet another piece of debris or large rock.

To her surprise, it was a simple jar. It might have once been glass, but time submerged in the murky water had made it look closer to ceramic or clay. She untangled it from the net and turned away from the water, examining the lid to ensure it was what she’d been looking for.

Apparently, turning around to face Theon’s general direction was a big mistake. He immediately caught on to the jar in her hands and curiosity was evident in his voice. “What is _that?_ ”

“None of your business,” she replied, only paying partial attention to him as she fiddled with the jar.

Usually, she’d realize he was approaching before he had started moving. However, the distraction combined with so little sleep had made it hard to concentrate on such mundane things, especially given that she was, at the moment, trying her hardest to ignore Theon. Before she realized he was moving, he was trying to snatch the jar from her hands. She managed to hold on to it by its lid, but her grip was slipping and she needed him to let go. She needed these wishes, and who knows what he might do with them. 

“Let go, Theon,” she demanded.

“No! I want to see it!” he exclaimed, almost like a petulant child having his toy taken away.

They wrestled over it for the next couple of minutes until there was a small _pop_ and Theon tripped backwards, landing on his ass with the now lidless jar in his hands. Arya was left holding the lid in her hand. She examined the label on the top and sighed in exasperation and frustration. She didn’t know who got the wishes, but she was about to find out.

Theon tipped the jar upside down and shook it, pouting in disappointment when nothing fell out. “Well, fuck. It looks like the damned thing is empty. Why did you want to keep it so bad?”

“Why did you want to take it from me so bad?” she retorted. 

“I thought it was worth something!”

Arya sighed, yet again. _This is, quite possibly, the most exasperating man alive._

“Wait, is there anything on the lid?” he asked, and she turned the lid so he could see the seal on the top. His eyes widened in realization and he took a step back from her.

“O’ great djinn!” he began. “I am your master, your controller, and as such I have but three commands for you!” 

_This is exactly what I was afraid of,_ Arya thought.

Before he could go any further, she clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” she hissed. “You do _not_ get to use those for your own personal gain. _I’m_ the one who found the seal and _you_ took it from my hands, so please, for the love of the gods, shut the fuck up.”

She removed her hand from his mouth and went to go pack up her things, hoping she could leave Theon behind and find something or someone else to help her. Before she made it very far, she heard a choking sound and turned to find Theon struggling to breathe and coughing up blood.

“Well, fuck,” she groaned, going to help him.


	2. Chapter 2

Gendry was not having a good day.

He hardly ever had a good day in his life. There were some, yes, but they were far and few in between and mixed in with hundreds and hundreds of bad days. 

It had already been a bad day before the head of The Brotherhood, the guild that trained him as a mage, showed up at his house. Beric Dondarrion’s appearance in Gendry’s home only made things infinitely worse. 

“What are you doing here?” Gendry asked upon feeling a second presence in the room that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“I need your help, son,” Dondarrion replied, with a thinly veiled sigh of exasperation. It was obvious he didn’t want to be there anymore than Gendry wanted him there.

“What could you possibly need my help with?”

“Gendry, there’s a war going on. The Brotherhood needs as many capable mages as possible.”

Gendry took a deep breath and stood up.

The war had been ongoing for decades at this point. It began when Stupid King Joffrey lobbed off his Warden of the North’s head. This sparked a long debate over who was truly next for the throne. The Lannisters, Joffrey’s mother’s (and father’s, or so it was rumoured) side of the family, vied to keep Joffrey on the throne. Both the brothers of the previous king, Robert Baratheon, assumed their own titles as King. Robb Stark, son of the late Warden of the North, Eddard Stark, declared independence for the North in retaliation for his father’s execution. He was shortly after named the King in the North. Lastly, there was Balon Greyjoy, who was King of the Iron Islands. Over time, the war shifted as kings died off and loyalties changed. King Joffrey was poisoned at his own wedding and was succeeded by his brother, Tommen. King Robert’s brothers died as well, only Stannis Baratheon’s line kept alive through his daughter, Shireen. Gendry had to admit, if there was anyone he thought could truly lead the kingdom to a time of peace, it would be Shireen Baratheon. King Robb and his mother were betrayed and murdered, with his only living heir- his younger sister, Sansa- married off to a Lannister. Officially, his bastard brother Jon Snow was the new King in the North, but he was guarding the Wall that divided the North from the Land of Always Winter. King Balon was murdered by his brother, who quickly assumed the Salt Throne of the Iron Islands for himself and allied with Cersei Lannister, the least honourable woman in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Gendry had been privy to the plans to betray Robb Stark when he served Tywin Lannister for a time. He specialized in an offensive kind of magic, which made him invaluable during a battle. One day, Lord Tywin asked him if he could create an enchantment that would trap someone in a room. It was not an abnormal question, but Tywin Lannister was known for his schemes and his treason, so Gendry became suspicious. It was the night before what would come to be known as the Red Wedding, which claimed the lives of the King in the North and his loyal followers when Gendry learned what his power was really being used for. He decided he would not take part in a massacre so brutal and left in the dead of night. He was sure that there was a price on his head, but he could care less. Stark and his followers were still slain, but Gendry heard it was a bloody mess, with many lives on both sides lost.

That day, Gendry decided he wouldn’t allow himself to be involved in the war ever again.

“The Brotherhood,” he stated, “can go fuck itself. The war too, and everyone associated with it.”

Beric’s responding look of disappointment was one Gendry was well acquainted with. Beric Dondarrion was not a man to yell at his misbehaving and overambitious students. Instead, he practically turned his look of disapproval into his near constant expression. He had a tone that came with it, one he was using right now.

“Gendry, lad,” he began, “we need your help. This war, if left unchecked, could devastate the entire country. Millions of people, dead. You could be the difference.”

“Your rousing speeches stopped working on me long ago, Dondarrion,” Gendry replied, his voice flat. “What makes you think I could make a difference. Millions have already died. Besides, you said it yourself that I was too angry to ever be a good mage; I was too quick to lose control.”

“Maybe now that anger is precisely what we need.”

Gendry sighed. “I’ll consider it,” he decided reluctantly. “In the meantime, I’d like you to leave.”

“How will I know when you’ve finished your considerations?” Beric countered.

“I’ll figure out a way to contact you. Now please, get out of my house.” Gendry gestured towards the door as he spoke. 

“I’ll be in touch,” Beric stated as he walked through the door. “Oh, and Gendry?” he added as he strode towards the door.

“For the love of the fucking Seven, what is it now?” Gendry snapped.

Beric smiled. “Try not to stir up too much trouble. And please do consider what I said. We could really use someone like you.”

At that, Beric finally left and Gendry sighed in relief. At least now, he could get some lunch.

Gendry had just finished making his meal when the door burst open as if someone had kicked it. 

_Well, that’s new,_ he thought. Whoever the poor bloke was, it sounded like he was dragging someone along and like he desperately needed Gendry’s help.

_This day cannot get any worse, can it?_ He wondered as he walked into the main room and was confronted not by two men, but by a rather slender woman carrying a seemingly drunk and probably severely injured man over her shoulder.

He stopped and stared at her in shock. There was no way someone of her size would be able to carry a fully grown man over her shoulder like that.

_Unless…_

He’d heard of witchers before, but he’d never actually encountered one. They were rumoured to be supernaturally strong, mutated young, and nearly immortal. He remembered hearing about several famous witchers during the time after he left the Brotherhood out of spite towards Dondarrion.

One of them, maybe the most famous one, was Jaime Lannister. He was famous for killing the mad King Aerys and for engaging in a sexual relationship with his twin sister for decades. This was the affair that sparked the rumours surrounding King Joffrey’s birth, as Jaime’s sister was also Joffrey’s mother. The man seemed like a brilliant fighter and a skilled strategist, but his incestuous background made Gendry think he might punch the man if he ever met him.

Another well-known witcher had a far better reputation, according to Gendry. Most would consider mass murder a crime punishable by death, but Gendry knew the Freys of the Crossing deserved what was coming to them. The Night Wolf, as the woman was named, was known as a glorified mercenary. Rumour has it that she killed the Freys to take revenge for the betrayal and murder of her family. Others say it was because they wrongfully accused, arrested, and executed a lover. When he heard that, he wondered why it was that women always had to do things for a lover. Whatever the Night Wolf’s reason for killing the Freys was, it was well justified. They were entitled asses, the whole lot of them. They were the hosts at the deadly Red Wedding, they stole from the poor, they acted as if the world owed them everything, and they were greedy, keeping the food for themselves. The eldest, Old Walder, was the worst of them. He treated his wives, daughters, and granddaughters like livestock half the time and gave his sons and grandsons much too much power. Gendry was of the firm belief that the world was better off without him. 

He was also of the firm belief that the woman who killed the Frey men was the woman standing in front of him, plopping her companion down on a chair. He didn’t expect her to be so… small. Standing straight, she only maybe came up to his chin. He could tell she was strong though, even if she was half his size. She finally met his gaze and he found himself staring into tired eyes the exact colour of steel.

“You’re the mage, correct?” she demanded.

“Well, I am _a_ mage. Pretty sure I’m not the only one,” he remarked snidely.

She sighed. “You’re Gendry?” 

He scoffed at the way she spoke to him. It could have been the fact that she was covered in her companion’s blood or the fact that she looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks, but with the day he’d been having, he took her tone of voice to mean something entirely different.

“Yes, m’lady. How may I help you?” he replied with a false smile.

There was almost a ringing sound in the silence that followed. For a brief moment, he was afraid to look up. Her anger and frustration nearly overwhelmed him, but it was possible he was mistaking it for his own.

“What in the seven _fucking_ hells did you just call me?” she said softly, in a voice so full of fury he didn’t want to respond. In his many years, Gendry had never once encountered someone whose temper matched his.

“I just thought that it was unfair that you knew my name and vocation but I don’t know yours.”

So you presumed?”

“Perhaps I did. Was I right?”

He finally worked up the courage to look her in the eye. Her anger had dissipated and transformed into something deeper, something more raw. He had the feeling that if it had been a different time, she might have reacted differently. Maybe _he_ would’ve reacted differently.

“No, you weren’t right,” she replied softly.

“So tell me,” he implored, “who are you, why are you here, and how did you find me?”

She took a deep breath.

“My name is Arya, I’m here because I need your help, and the Maester at the edge of the village told me you were the only one who _could_ help.”

He paused a moment. That was a noble name. 

“Lots of people need my help,” Gendry retorted. “What makes you so special?”

Arya walked over to her companion and dragged him up and over to Gendry with ease. Up close, he could make out blood dripping from the man’s mouth and nose. The man was barely conscious and struggling to breathe. Gendry looked to Arya, confusion in his eyes,

“This is Theon; he’s an idiot who pissed off a djinn.”

_Ah. That makes a little more sense._

“Those are dangerous beings,” Gendry mused. He turned to the bleeding man. “What were you doing pissing off a djinn in the first place?” He knew Theon couldn’t respond; it was more of a rhetorical question anyways.

He looked to Arya again, who showed no signs of weakening despite the fact that she was holding a fully grown man by the collar of his shirt. 

“How did you find him?” he asked, moving to help her take Theon upstairs.

“I can do it myself,” she exclaimed.

“Maybe so, but you have a question to answer.”

“I can do more than one thing at a time, you know.”

Gendry sighed in exasperation. “Just answer the damned question.”

She hesitated for a moment. “I was with him.”

“And you didn’t stop him?” Gendry whirled around to face her so fast that Theon moaned in discomfort as he was shifted.

“I was the one looking for the djinn. I found it and he tried to wrestle it out of my hands. He opened it and began making some rather obscene requests,” she explained.

They finally made it upstairs and Gendry plunked Theon on a bed in a room he kept for exactly this kind of thing and was able to get to work. A djinn’s curse was relatively weak, so it wouldn’t take him very long.

He had more questions for Arya anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> easter egg that everyone probably already knows: arya is sanskrit for noble :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyooo im back! this one's a bit of a difference one since it involves a new pov (however brief) and an attempt at smut towards the end. its not a very explicit scene, but nonetheless i've marked it, and the scene starts where it says *smut times* and lasts until theon's pov at the end of the chapter. hope you enjoy!

It felt as though it had taken __hours__ for this Gendry to finish fixing Theon and Arya wanted to leave. She knew he wasn’t done talking to her and he probably had some things to say about her trying to get the djinn’s wish, but she didn’t want to hear him. However, for whatever reason, she did want to see him again.

It was strange, this feeling. She hadn’t felt it since that night with Meera in the woods. She knew that if she left, there was a high chance she wouldn’t get the chance to see Gendry again. She didn’t know exactly what it was that drew her to him. It could have been the way he seemed to care despite barely knowing her or the brightness of his eyes. It could just be that she was lonely and Theon was her only friend. It could be that he understood what it’s like to be alone.

And so, against her better judgement, she stayed and waited for him to come back down. She had worked with mages before, but she hadn’t witnessed them heal anyone. There were a couple that healed her before, but she’d been unable to see them in action.

Before long, Gendry came back downstairs. There seemed to be a fine layer of sweat on his forehead, but his demeanor seemed no different from before.

“Your friend will be fine,” he explained. “All he needs is some rest and he should be alright.”

Arya didn’t reply. She didn’t feel much for Theon. She didn’t even know why she brought him here to be healed. It was his own damn fault he got hurt, and she could’ve easily left him in the woods to die, but she didn’t. Somehow, Gendry seemed to pick up on this.

“If you don’t care about him and his well-being, then why did you save him?” he asked.

“I’m still trying to figure that one out myself,” she said with a dark laugh.

“Which begs the question, why were you looking for a djinn?” 

__He won’t let this go, will he?_ _

“Personal reasons,” she spat, knowing her answer was vague, but hoping he would leave it be. She didn’t want to explain the thoughts that haunted her dreams or the reasons she hadn’t been able to sleep. 

“Personal reasons,” he echoed. “That’s pretty obvious. Few search for a genie for selfless reasons.”

“And what makes you such an expert on supernatural beings?” she retorted.

“Technically, I am a supernatural being.”

“Mages are human, they just have more abilities than most.”

“And you? What makes __you__ such an expert on supernatural beings?”

She hesitated. Her kind weren’t welcome in most villages. So many times she had been called a monster, an abomination, a curse on the town before they came asking for her help. If Gendry felt the same, she’d have to be gone before the sun had disappeared behind the mountains surrounding this valley.

“I’m a witcher; it’s my job,” she explained. 

For a moment, he said nothing. There was no expression on his face that gave away what he was thinking and she got scared. Too many people scare easily because of what she was and what she did, and she couldn’t help herself from wondering whether or not Gendry would be one of those people.

“I was right then,” he answered finally.

“About what?”

“I had a hunch. I knew who you were the moment you stepped in here, Night Wolf.”

At the mention of her nickname, her heart sank. If he knew who she was, he knew what she’d done.

“How’d you know?” 

“Not too many female witchers around.” He seemed to sense her discomfort. “The Freys got what they deserved,” he said almost softly.

“It was personal for me.” She wasn’t too sure why she was about to tell this man she barely knew her life story and her greatest shame, but she did it anyway. “They killed Meera, the wom- who I loved. They killed her because I killed one of their own; one who tried to have me killed.” She took a deep shuddering breath. She’d never been this open with anyone, never trusted anyone with her insecurities and her demons. Too many times they’d been used against her in the worst ways.

Gendry was different, though.

“They killed my family too, when I was little, before I became… who I am.” she continued. “Slit my mother’s throat and… and replaced my brother’s head with that of his direwolf’s.” She heard him take a subtle inhale in realization. “And Meera… they strung her body up outside the castle, hoping I’d see. I did. Then I killed them all.”

He took a deep breath, no doubt trying to process the information she’d just shared with him. 

“You’re a Stark?” he muttered. She nodded. 

“They were awful and cruel men to do that to you and your family,” he said. “I know all about what they do- or did, I suppose. I used to be assigned to Tywin Lannister, and he tried to use my powers for evil, to kill your family. I ran. I refuse to take part in something so horrible and unjust and I refuse to go back.”

Arya smiled sadly. “Look at us,” she murmured.

“Yeah, look at us. Nothing bonds people like discussing the people they hate the most.”

She snorted and looked into his eyes again. They’d darkened significantly since earlier. Instead of the almost icey blue they’d been when she arrived with Theon slung over her shoulder, they were a deeper blue now, almost matching the colour of the deep sea. His eyes were some of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen.

He brought a hand up to cradle her cheek and she felt something she hadn’t truly felt since she was a child.

She felt safe.

*smut times*

“I’d like to kiss you, if that’s alright,” he asked breathlessly.

“I would like nothing more,” she whispered.

She’d almost forgotten what it was like to kiss a man. She hadn’t been with anyone at all since Meera, and Arya hadn’t realized just how starved for touch she truly was.

Her hand went to the back of his head while his went to her lower back, pulling the edge of her shirt out of where it was tucked into her pants. She continued, pulling it up and over her head and he followed suit. She practically fell on top of him in an effort to keep kissing him, but he caught her easily, working his tongue back into her mouth. 

She moved her hands down to the waistband of his trousers and looked to him, the question in her eyes and her intent clear. 

“Do you want to-”

“Yes,” he breathed, “please.”

She smiled in satisfaction and made her way down between his legs.

The room was dark and empty when Theon finally woke up. 

“Arya?’ he called hesitantly. There was no answer. “Strange yet handsome mage?” Still, nothing. 

Eventually, he stood up. At least he was able to breathe again. He was grateful for small mercies. His shirt, however, was soaked in blood, and he groaned in despair. It was a new shirt, for the gods’ sake! An expensive one, too! 

_Arya probably left hours ago,_ he thought to himself. There was no reason for her to stay and wait for him to recover, especially since she was so desperate to get rid of him earlier that she damn near cursed him to die. 

_Maybe she didn’t mean to_ , he wondered. She had dragged him all across the village looking for someone to help him. What reward would she get from a lowly bard who nagged her near constantly?

Theon searched the room, looking for his boots which had been removed at some point. He eventually found them and nearly fell over trying to get them on. He might have sat down if he didn’t feel so uncomfortable in this house. He often prided himself on his sense of danger. It seemed to save his arse in many situations. Right now, he was convinced he was soon to die or already dead and caught in some kind of purgatory. _At least_ , he thought to himself, _it would make for a fantastic song._

He heard sounds from downstairs, so he could assume there was at least one person in the house with him. He left the room and began to proceed downstairs when he realized that there were moans among the sounds he heard. He paused on the steps, not wanting to disturb the happy couple, but also wanting to see.

Theon crept further down the steps so he could see the action while remaining hidden. All he could see was a vaguely familiar man and the back of an even more familiar woman. They were so lost in each other that neither realized Theon was there. Suddenly, they flipped so he could see the woman’s face and he had to clap a hand over his mouth so he didn’t screech in horror.

In all the years he’d known Arya, he hadn’t known her to ever _lay_ with anyone. She’d always kept to herself and few would talk to her. He ran back upstairs before they could see him and before he could reach the safety of the room he’d been in there was a loud crash from downstairs. 

Theon doubted it could’ve come from Arya and her _gentleman_ friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Arya couldn’t remember being this content in quite a long time.

Gendry had fallen asleep not long ago while she stayed awake, absently tracing patterns on his bare skin with her finger and admiring his sleeping face. He seemed so peaceful in his sleep, and years younger as well. 

Arya knew it was past time to leave, but she didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, she’d have been more than happy to stay there for the rest of her life if she had any control over what went on in her life. 

She couldn’t explain what drew her to him even if it meant both of their lives. She barely knew him, so how did she end up naked in his arms while he slept? Even with Meera, they’d known each other for some time before anything happened between them. Thinking of Meera was painful; it brought up memories of her brothers, long dead, and the last night she ever truly felt at peace before her mind went to war with her heart. It brought up images of mutilated bodies and murdered wolves and a woman’s corpse floating in a river. 

It brought up the sounds of Walder Frey’s final words and that deadly feast, with everyone responsible for the deaths of all her loved ones poisoned by her hand.

It was uncharacteristic for a witcher to use poison, and as such they never would have suspected her had she not wanted the men she killed to look into her eyes as they died. They never would’ve known who killed them if she didn’t decide she wanted them to know it was a Stark who ended them.

She never felt guilt for doing them in. It was, after all, what they deserved. She did, however, feel guilt for thinking that if only she had done them _all_ in, not just the men present at the Red Wedding, she wouldn’t pass by wanted posters with her name and her face plastered on the front and she wouldn’t have to escape the hands of Frey loyalists and those in want of the reward for her capture. The thought remained in the back of her mind, as far as she could banish it, while the knowledge that the bounty on her was her own doing stayed at the forefront.

It was the reminder of said bounty that had her sitting up, clambering over Gendry’s sleeping form lying on the floor as gently as she could in an attempt not to wake him while she dressed in the clothes that went under her armour. _If I stay here too long, someone could-_

Before she could finish the thought, the door burst open as if it was kicked. Gendry jerked upright just as a large, burly man with a burned face reached for her.

Gendry could’ve torn the person responsible for disrupting his sleep and therefore his time with Arya to shreds had he not been armed to the fucking teeth. Before he could form a plan of attack to deal with the intruder, the larger man had pulled Arya to her feet and had her restrained.

“What the fuck is this?” he demanded.

“Heard there was a witcher about,” the intruder explained, “and not just _any_ witcher either. Freys put a bounty on this one’s head and I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna collect it.”

Gendry caught her eye, trying to reassure her only to realize she seemed like she’d resigned herself to her fate. Immediately, his mind reached out towards the door and he felt the lock twist into position, making it so no one could leave.

“You won’t take her,” he said.

The intruder turned on Gendry and approached, dragging Arya behind him, and swung at Gendry’s head, obviously trying to disable him. Gendry dodged, but the other man was quicker, stronger, and more experienced. Before long, he cornered Gendry and managed to get the upper hand on him. The last thing he remembered was eyes the colour of molten steel.

The vaguely familiar man wasted no time in throwing a bag over Arya’s head and tossing her over his shoulder. She knew she couldn’t quite fight her way out, but she was faster than him, and could outrun him if she could loosen his hold on her. She didn’t want him to know that just yet, however. It could be dangerous for her and for Gendry if she fought her way out of her captor’s hold in front of the whole village, especially since the remaining Freys put a bounty on her head. Therefore, she stayed still and silent against the man’s back. 

After a while, he threw her down and she landed painfully against the hard ground. Before he took the bag off of her head, she was already trying to understand her surroundings. The ground was too hard to be the forest floor and whatever she was leaning against was too smooth to be a tree trunk. The bag was ripped off of her head and whatever suspicions she had left were confirmed. 

This man had thrown her in a prison cell.

It wasn’t the first she’d been in and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but that didn't stop the sheer outrage she felt at being imprisoned yet again, especially when she looked up at her captor and saw his burn scars for the second time.

Sandor Clegane was another famous witcher, like her, but he was known for being a ruthless killer, serving a terrible king, betraying said king, and now working as a mercenary for money. His brother was more terrifying than Sandor himself was, but Gregor Clegane was not someone Arya liked to think about.

“You dare take me prisoner?” Arya demanded. “You dare turn me over for a little _coin?_ The Frey’s would gladly wipe us all out for little more than a meat pie!”

“Coin is coin,” he grunted, “and you’d fetch me quite a bit. I’m sure whoever runs The Twins now would gladly let me go if I was presenting them their greatest enemy.”

“You’re a fool,” she spat. “A fool and a pathetic fucking coward.”

“Better than dead, which is what you’ll be soon enough.” He slammed the door with a bang, a guard locking the cell behind him. Arya sighed in defeat and leaned her head against the wall. She closed her eyes and imagined deep blue eyes and a warm body against her, moaning. She remembered how his voice softened when they spoke. She hoped he was alright; she’d never forgive herself if he wasn’t. As it was, the image of his unmoving body never left her mind. It was always at the forefront, taunting her whenever she closed her eyes. It was all too similar to Meera. Gendry’s unmoving body quickly morphed into Meera’s hanging corpse outside the gates of The Twins. 

It felt unfair to be herded to the Freys just because they saw fit to murder an innocent woman and Arya saw fit to give her justice. Meera was all she had. The Freys took everything from her and she did close enough to the same as she could manage in retaliation. She’d be damned if she’d let them do it again.

She had to get back to Gendry. There was no doubt in her mind that more than one person saw Clegane dragging her out of his house and wanted to know more. She was convinced that Clegane had sent word to the Freys by now and they were preparing for her. She knew she had to escape.

_But how?_

Shortly after he dragged her out of Gendry’s, Clegane threw her down carelessly and bound her hands and feet while she was winded from the impact. Before she could recover, he had already picked her back up and continued on towards the jail. Usually, when she was captured by some fool looking to claim the reward for her, they’d bind her with ropes that she was well versed in loosening and escaping from, but this time he’d put her in chains. Clegane knew her; he was like her. Of course he was prepared to keep her contained. She leaned her head back against the wall and began to plan.

She couldn’t fight her way out of this one. This kind of situation involved careful planning and strategic thinking, but every idea Arya had was quickly shot down by one problem or another. Eventually, she closed her eyes and for the first time in a very long time, she felt pressure building behind her eyes and tears running down her cheeks.

How could it all end like this? How could a simple, stupid mistake lead her to her death like this? She’d let herself get distracted, and when she got distracted, people died for her mistakes.

_I wish I could go back_ , she thought. _I wish I could go back to him._

“I wish I could get out of here,” she muttered under her breath.

Then, like a prayer answered by the gods, she heard a _click_ and her chains fell from around her wrists and onto the ground. The chains around her ankles were loose too, and she stepped out of them, standing up with ease.

At that moment she realized it was never Theon with the wishes. Theon never pissed off the djinn.

_It was me. I set him free. I have the wishes._

On her arm, just above the inside of her wrist, were two marks she’d never noticed before. _Fuck, I really need to sleep if I’m this distracted all the time_ , she thought to herself with a small chuckle.

She approached the door, checking down the corridor to see if there was anyone coming. Usually, she’d be willing to fight her way out, but her sword and armour were all back at Gendry’s still. She needed to be careful.

There was nothing she could use to pick the lock so she closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, praying she was successful. She’d only been able to do it successfully a handful of times. She felt the tumblers in the lock shifting as she manipulated them, and before long, the lock popped open and Arya was finally able to escape. 

As she rounded a corner, she encountered a guard who saw her before she had the chance to hide. Before he could yell for help, she threw herself at him, knocking him to the ground. She recovered quickly, the instincts engrained in her long ago taking over, grabbed his hair, and slammed his head against the wall hard enough to knock him unconscious but not hard enough to kill him. There was no reason this man should die for simply being in the way.

She was fortunate enough to not encounter any more guards during her escape, but she had to hurry. Soon, the guard she’d knocked unconscious would be found and her cell would be discovered to be empty. 

She found a door and opened it, revealing that it was an exit. She ran out and sprinted to Gendry as fast as she could. She had to get to him, had to get him out of here before they realized she escaped and the Freys could come and hurt him for helping her.

As she ran, she noted the sun had set. That would explain why there were so few guards on duty. She wondered just how long she’d been planning her escape for. 

The door was still open when she returned and Gendry was still on the ground.

_This isn’t good._

She moved to try and coax him back to consciousness only to realize he was already awake. _Why is he still on the ground?_

“Arya?” His voice was soft and almost pained.

“I’m here,” she whispered, noticing the tear that began to run down his cheek. How she became so devoted to this man she barely knew, she’d never know, but she’d always be grateful for it.

“I’m here.”


	5. Chapter 5

When Gendry woke up, the sun was starting to set. The sky was tinged with orange and pink through the ever persistent grey of the clouds, but Gendry could not care less about the colour of the fucking sunset.

 _I let them take her,_ he thought to himself, devastated.

His head pounded and he knew he should get up, get help, find her, but he couldn’t move. The weight of his failure sat on his chest, immobilizing him completely. He didn’t even move when the man who he healed upstairs did a poor job of sneaking out. He just stayed on the floor, playing the scene in his mind over and over again, wondering what he could have done differently.

He could have grabbed a weapon; the sword Arya had brought with her was still leaning against the wall by the door. He could have dodged- he _should_ have dodged. Then he could have ran after them. He could have gotten help. All these things and more he could have done and it could have meant her freedom or even her life.

He wondered where she was. She was probably in some kind of prison cell waiting for morning or already on the road, blinded, chained, and being led to her death, and it was his fault. He should have enforced the house. He should have defended her.

The door opened with a bang and Gendry couldn’t bring himself to turn and look. For all he knew, it was someone wanting information on the man carrying the woman who came in carrying a man who was dying. He couldn’t blame them; it was most definitely a confusing and complicated situation.

The new intruder didn’t sound like someone wanting information. Instead, they- no _she_ \- sounded like they ran their lungs out just to get here. He felt her hands on him, rolling him onto his back. He found himself staring into familiar silver eyes, now full of desperation unlike the emptiness he saw last time.

“Arya?” he croaked, his eyes filling with tears.

“I’m here,” she whispered just as softly, pulling him into a hug. “I’m here.”

He wrapped his arms around her, grateful she was alright. He’d never before understood how people fell in love seemingly so quickly sometimes, but now he did.

Destiny always finds a way.

They pulled away from each other, staring into each other’s eyes for a little bit longer as if they didn’t want to let each other out of their sight ever again. Eventually, Arya stood up and began collecting her armour and her sword.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, trying not to let his hurt show.

“I am,” she said. “You’re in danger with me here, and I won’t let anyone hurt you. I just had to make sure you were alright and grab my things.”

He swallowed. “Why am I in so much danger that you have to leave? Does it have to do with that man?”

“Yes,” she replied as she wrapped her sword belt around her waist. “He was going to give me to the Freys for a reward.”

“They Freys?” he asked, bewildered. “They’re looking for you?”

“Yes. That’s what that fuckwad was here for earlier. He wanted to collect the bounty on my head, but I escaped. I’ll not let myself be done in by a couple of dimwits.”

Gendry understood. “I’ll be right back,” he said and ran upstairs.

“Gendry, wait-” he heard her call after him but he had gone out of earshot before she could convince him to do otherwise.

He had few belongings that meant anything to him. All he had was a small wooden stag he remembered his mother giving to him once to play with. It was all he had left of her and all he remembered her by. Aside from that, all else he grabbed was a few items of clothing and some food for the road, along with the small amount of coin he made doing the odd job for the locals.

He came downstairs to find Arya waiting expectantly. In her armour and wearing her sword on her back, she looked as dangerous as she was always rumoured to be. He found himself enamoured by it.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked. 

“I’m coming with you. I won’t let you go alone; it’s too dangerous, even for you. Also, I know how we can get the Freys off your back. I know where to go.”

“How the fuck are we supposed to get them to stop? It isn’t like we can storm in and demand they remove the bounty, Gendry.” She sounded even more tired than before.

He pulled his cloak on and strode past Arya to open the door.

“We’re going to help with the war effort.”

It took a lot of convincing on his end to get Arya to travel to Acorn Hall with him. She was adamant on going off by herself, claiming it was the right thing for her to do, but Gendry would have none of it. He knew they could use a warrior such as herself in the war and he was selfish. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight again. He’d never been one to believe much in destiny, but he was convinced that she was brought to his door for a reason.

Eventually, she conceded.

The Brotherhood had not changed one bit since he left. It wasn’t a surprise; the place hadn’t changed in the near millennium since it had been in use. The stone was beginning to crumble and the floors were cracked, but the foundation was stable.

Arya looked around in what seemed to be vague amazement found in the eyes of someone in someplace new. He almost had the heart to tell her all about how shitty this place was, but decided against it. Their position was too precarious to be saying things like that out in the open.

As they rounded the corner, Gendry locked eyes with one of his old classmates.

“Anguy,” he greeted.

“Gendry,” Anguy replied.

Arya cleared her throat.

“Who’s this, then?” questioned Anguy.

“This is Arya,” Gendry said bluntly, wanting to move along.

“Not like any mage I’ve seen before,” Anguy muttered under his breath. 

“I’m not a fucking mage,” Arya spat, and Anguy took a step back, looking impressed.

“Where’s Beric?” Gendry sighed.

“He’s in a meeting, in the hall. All mages needed. I was just headed over myself.”

“Lead us there,” Arya demanded.

“Woah, woah, woah. I can’t just bring anyone I want into the meeting.”

“She’s with me,” Gendry explained. “We can trust her.”

Anguy looked hesitant, but nodded his head in approval. Finally, they were headed to the hall where the meetings took place.

The first thing Gendry noticed when they arrived was that there were many more people there than he remembered ever seeing. In addition to mages from every academy across Westeros, he recognized various lords and ladies and councilmen from the banners they wore across their chests. 

_This must be about the war,_ he thought.

“Ah, Gendry. I see you’ve decided to join us,” Beric said. 

“Something like that,” Gendry replied.

“Who’s this then?” he asked, gesturing in Arya’s direction.

Before Gendry or Arya could answer, a voice piped up from the back of the room. “I’ll recognize those mutants anywhere! She’s a bloody witcher!”

Chaos erupted in the room. Gendry knew witchers were looked down upon in Westeros, but he hadn’t an idea of how much they looked down on them. Despite it all, Arya kept her head high. 

A voice cut through the uproar. “Silence!” it cried.

Everyone quieted, waiting to see who spoke. Daenerys Targaryen, a fellow mage who was rumoured to specialize in fire spells, stood tall. “We cannot afford to be fighting amongst ourselves. If anything, we need to accept the help we can get, no matter our opinions on others. We need to work together if we’re going to win this war!”

Everyone fell silent. The tension was palpable throughout the room and could be cut with a knife. Eventually, Arya stepped forward and began to speak.

“I know we have our differences, and I know some of you are wary of me, but hear me out. What she said was true; we need to work together to win this war. If you want to hate me or distrust me, you can go ahead and do so. But the truth is we need to put our differences aside.”

“You don’t even know what we’re fighting for,” said Lord Roose Bolton, sneering with hatred. “How dare you force your way into our war. We don’t need a fucking _witcher_ to fight for us.”

“So explain it to me,” Arya replied, unaffected. “Explain to me what you’re fighting for, just so we’re on the same page. I can’t help you if I don’t know how.”

“Who said we want your help?” scoffed Ramsay, Lord Bolton’s only remaining son and a snooty little shit. Gendry wanted to hit him. 

“I say,” Daenerys stood up again. Her presence was overwhelming, and no one dared to confront her or oppose her. “I say we want her help. I say she’s needed here.”

Gendry always respected Daenerys. Her way of taking charge of a room was incomparable. She had the voice and the posture of a leader and he admired that about her.

“I agree,” he spoke up. “We need as much help as we’re going to get if we’re going to win this war.”

“She’s one person,” stated a lord that Gendry did not know. “How much help could she possibly be?”

He shared a knowing glance with Arya. “I think she could help an awful lot.”

“It’s decided, then,” Beric stated. “The witcher stays. If anyone takes offence to that, they can leave. We won’t win if we’re divided.”

Only a few men got up to leave. Among them were Lord Bolton and his son. The majority of those in attendance stayed.

“Now then,” said Beric, taking a seat. “Shall we get started?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! i realized i made a mistake when i was counting out the chapters and it turns out i have three chapters to post this week and not two!

In the end, the plan was rather simple. 

The Lannisters had run the kingdom into the ground and spent more money than Arya could even comprehend. To make matters worse, some of the most powerful houses in the Seven Kingdoms had sided with them, including House Frey. Arya would not be surprised if the Boltons had defected to the Lannister side as well. That made her weary; who knows what Roose told them about their plans.

During the meeting, Beric revealed that the Lannisters and their army were marching to Acorn Hall. They’d taken serious offence to Beric’s refusal to help them due to their spending habits and abhorrent methods of making deals. Gendry told her how he once saw Cersei Lannister command her lackey to hang a child for stealing a loaf of bread from the kitchens of the Red Keep. Arya knew the Lannisters, along with their allies, had the numbers and the manpower to defeat them, so they needed to be smart.

The Lannisters didn’t have any mages on their side, but Cersei’s brother, Tyrion, who was more than willing to betray the family who mistreated him, told them all about his sister’s secret. He told them that Cersei had caches of a substance known as wildfire, which was highly flammable and highly unstable. Later, Gendry told her that even a small bit of it could blow a house sky high. Arya didn’t want to imagine what a barrel could do, let alone the full cellar that Tyrion claimed Cersei had. The plan was to set the wildfire off before Cersei’s army could use it against theirs. That way, they could make a dent in the Lannister army at the very least and hopefully get the upper hand. They had divided into two groups; the foot soldiers, which included those who were skilled with a sword, and the firing squad, which included archers and mages, who were more skilled in attacks from a distance. Arya did not anticipate bearing witness to that much death, let alone being complicit in it, but it was necessary. Any less and they risked Cersei running the kingdom to the ground. So many have already died in this war, and Beric was adamant that no more innocents die.

Arya’s role was on the front lines, fighting, and she didn’t expect any less. At least Gendry would be fighting from afar, with the other mages, so he would be as safe as can be on a battlefield. She hoped that her group would be able to hold the army back so he wouldn’t have to use his weapon. In addition to Arya, they’d also managed to enlist Jaime and Brienne, who at one point had met up and decided to travel together. Well, that was what Jaime claimed. His claim held up poorly considering the fact that he was in chains and forced to his knees by Brienne. She was bringing him to the North, against whom his crimes were of the worst offences and there would be no shortage of wanting for his head. Seeing two witchers in the same room was a feat in and of itself. Having three all on the same side was some kind of act of the Gods. Arya herself had barely spoken to Brienne and had never met Jaime ever. She liked Brienne; the taller woman was friendly and easy to talk to. However, she’d been somewhat distracted by one of the ladies in attendance, and Arya couldn’t blame her. Margaery Tyrell was every woman’s dream.

The night before the battle saw tensions run rampant throughout the hall. Beric had taken to sitting in front of a fire with a skin of rum beside Thoros of Myr. Arya saw Brienne disappear into Margaery Tyrell’s room hours ago and neither have emerged since. Anguy was obsessively counting their stock of arrows. Daenerys was pacing through the halls until Missandei, her close friend and fellow mage, convinced her to try and rest for a little bit. Arya and Gendry had taken shelter in a room and were sharing a flask of wine between them. Few words were shared, but they sat close enough to touch. 

Arya was familiar with fights and death, but battles were beyond her expertise. She’d never fought in one; it wasn’t her way. Normally, she stayed far away from politics and wars and stayed back to clean up the mess left behind. She still didn’t fully understand how or why she was here now, but she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. 

“Are you nervous?” he finally asked.

“For what?”

“The battle? What else?”

“No, I’m not nervous.” she replied.

“Scared?”

“My father once told me only a fool has no reason to be afraid, and I am no fool.”

“Aye, you’re no fool. Stubborn as a horse, maybe, but no fool.”

“Are you scared?”

“Like you said, I’d be foolish not to be. Any number of things can go wrong tomorrow, but I’m mostly scared for you.”

Arya hesitated. It had been far too long since she had anyone truly care for her.

“Why would you be scared for me?” she asked.

“You’re on the front lines,” he explained. “You’re the first defense. I don’t want to see you die.”

“I don’t want to see you die either.”

“I mean it,” he insisted. He opened his mouth and then closed it quickly as if he had more to say.

“Spit it out,” she snapped, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Arya, I-“

He was interrupted by the door to their sanctuary banging open. 

“There the fuck you are,” exclaimed Thoros. “They’re coming, now. We need to get into position.”

Gendry stood up, offering Arya a hand and moving to follow Thoros.

Arya stopped him. “Wait, Gendry, what were you going to say?”

He looked back and smiled sadly. “It’s not important.”

“Just tell me.”

He sighed. “Let’s get through tonight, then I’ll tell you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s go get these cunts.”

His returning smile was more genuine this time.

“Yes, let’s.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are! we're finally at the battle aka the moment a lot of you seem to be anxious for LMAO. however, i will point you to the lack of a major character death tag, which should hopefully ease your concerns a little. i can't believe this is almost finished! this is my first battle scene so i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

Acorn Hall was abuzz with activity. People were scurrying across the field getting into position and saying tearful goodbyes to friends and lovers.

Before long, it came time for Arya and Gendry to part as well.

“It’ll be alright,” she said. He didn’t know if she truly believed what she was saying, but she was convincing enough that it made him feel a slight better. “We’re gonna win this.”

“I wish I had your optimism, wolf girl,” he replied with a small smirk.

“It’s not optimism, it’s a belief,” she scoffed. “Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost.”

“Sound words to live by.”

“And I’m no girl,” she added on with a warning tone in her voice.

“Of course not.” 

She smiled gently, satisfied, and began to walk away.

“Arya!” he called after her and moved to follow her.

As he strode towards her, he saw her eyes widen in surprise when she took in just how close he had gotten. Before she could say anything else, he pulled her towards him and kissed her, softly and deeply. She had to know how he felt about her.

When he pulled away, her eyes were almost as dark as the night sky and her cheeks were flushed in a way unbefitting a witcher of her caliber.

“Don’t die,” he insisted.

“Same to you,” she replied, her voice breaking slightly.

Finally, he turned away from her and went to where he was meant to be in anticipation for the coming fight. 

From his position on the ramparts, Gendry could see nearly everything, including how the soldiers were lined, and prepared himself for battle. His place was at Beric’s side, firing at the enemy, along with other mages and some archers. Beric looked to him with concern in his eyes.

“You alright there, lad? You seem nervous,” Beric asked him.

“Who isn’t nervous before a battle?” Gendry replied. Arya’s words bounced around inside his head. _The man who fears losing has already lost._ He felt a hint of shame at the fact that he did fear losing. 

Beric scoffed in amusement. “Never knew you to be the one to get nervous.”

“Maybe people change.” 

Gendry spotted Arya as she made her way to stand beside Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister, who Gendry never really trusted. The man’s alliances were dubious as best and Gendry could almost sense his willingness to betray the side he claimed to be fighting for. He just hoped Arya could sense the same. He hoped she would keep an eye out for him.

He turned his head and saw Beric staring at him still, but with what could be understanding and maybe even amusement in his eyes. He nodded towards Arya. “Try not to die then. For her sake, and yours, if you ever want to see her again.”

“Wasn’t planning on dying tonight,” Gendry scoffed, “not by Lannister blades.”

He heard Beric chuckle in amusement and they both turned to watch the horizon, waiting for the enemy to arrive.

Before long, Gendry could see the red and gold flags of House Lannister and felt his stomach sink in dread of what was to come. The army before him stood at the ready and beside him, he felt Beric tense in anticipation.

“Archers and mages,” Beric began, “at your ready!”

The archer beside Gendry began to string her bow and Gendry felt a surge of energy rush through him. He imagined everything moving, vibrating in unison as he prepared himself and the enemy grew closer.

“Archers,” Beric commanded from beside him, “nock!’

The Lannisters came closer.

“Draw!”

The air was filled with anticipation and a strange sort of excitement. This could be it.

“Fire!”

The archers released their arrows and they sailed through the air. No one dared to breathe until the first arrow made contact with a Lannister soldier, dressed in gold armour that was now stained with his life’s blood. In another life, Gendry might have felt sorry for the man.

“Archers, nock!” Beric commanded again. “Mages, prepare yourselves!”

Not in this one, however.

The Lannisters began to charge.

“Draw!”

Distantly, Gendry recognized the command to charge coming from his side, and all he had time to think about was steel grey eyes.

“Fire!”

This time, along with the arrows, various forms of magical attacks were released as well. Gendry’s preferred method was fire. He remembered Beric telling him once as a young man that his fire, his fury, would only be good for anything in a real battle, one he might never see. Gendry nearly laughed at that. If Beric had any semblance of regret or what was soon to happen, he might have taken back his words, but he never did.

Gendry noted the destruction of a Lannister trebuchet and felt pride that he was the one to do it. He did his best to take out another, but before he could, he was forced to draw his sword and fight as the Lannisters managed to break through their first line of defense and properly begin their invasion.

From then on, everything became a blur. All he was concerned about was avoiding blades and swinging his own at anyone who wore gold. The dark made the fight considerably harder, but soon he had the bright idea to set his sword aflame. The fire only made it marginally better, but it wasn’t enough. He still couldn’t see far enough in front of him to fight properly.

His back met someone else’s, and he turned, prepared to strike them down. He stopped when he realized that the person behind him was Arya.

“Nice magic trick,” she teased, gesturing towards his blazing sword.

“Shouldn’t you be focused on things other than my sword?” he asked.

“It’s rather distracting, you know.”

He smiled grimly. “Stay close to me.”

“Same goes for you.”

He had to admit, fighting the enemy off was easier with someone watching his back. Arya moved like the sword was an extension of her body, blades bouncing off of her armour with ease, barely leaving dents. The dark barely seemed to affect her. She darted around enemies, using her small stature to her advantage. For the most part, no one saw her coming. The exception came when a soldier noticed one of his fellow soldiers falling and swung blindly. Gendry caught the man’s sword with his own and Arya put her blade into his heart. Gendry was just happy he could help her.

He realized, with a cold jolt of shock, that he couldn’t see Beric anymore. He couldn’t see anyone he recognized anymore. He was surrounded by gold and red with only Arya at his back, fighting as hard as she could. 

“Get down,” he heard her command from behind him, and he wasn’t in a position to ask why he should. He dropped to the ground as she let out a battle cry, but didn’t move. He was about to yell at her before he realized that the soldiers that surrounded them were on the ground, in various levels of pain. He grabbed her hand and they began to run, fighting off as many Lannisters as they could. 

Suddenly, he realized that her hand was gone from his and she was no longer beside him. He could only hope she survived the battle and was able to live.

Arya felt a surge of fear when she turned around and Gendry was no longer by her side, guarding her back. She could see the faint reflection of his flaming sword off of some soldiers’ armour, but he was too far for her to make her way to him and there were too many Lannisters to fight through. She continued to fight, however, the familiar feeling of dread taking hold in her heart. 

Fighting with Gendry had been a completely different experience, unlike anything she’d done before. He moved when she did, he ducked before she swung. They moved in tandem unlike any fighting pair she’d ever borne witness to. Now, he had been separated from her, and she could only hope that he was strong enough, good enough to survive this battle.

The next several hours of the battle were a blur. All she was aware of was the singing of her sword as it flew through the air and the sharp bite of blades that had managed to get past her armour.

Distinctly, she was aware of others fighting alongside her. Brienne, for a time. Daenerys. Jaime. Beric. Anguy. All of them were competent fighters and they could hold their own, but Arya kept thinking back to the last time she’d seen Gendry.

Her back was to Beric’s again, watching it. She was dimly aware of a sword grazing the side of her neck before Beric shoved a blade through the soldier’s middle. She nodded in thanks, but stopped when she noticed the sword sticking through his chest and the blood dribbling from his mouth. 

She might have screamed. She wasn’t too sure. She continued to fight, the images of Beric’s final moments running through her head. _Yet another death_ , she thought, _yet another loss._ She wondered if he had any family at all. 

She knew she was too distracted. It was one of the first things she was taught when she began her training as a witcher. “ _Don’t get distracted.”_ It came with the faint memory of a slap across her cheek and red hair and a smooth, emotionless voice. “ _A distracted girl is a dead girl.”_

 _“I’ll be quick!”_ she protested. _“They’ll never see me coming!”_

Another slap.

_“Speed means nothing if you can’t focus. You stay focused, you stay alive, and your opponent dies instead of you.”_

It was those words that came back to her just as she registered a blade headed for her heart. She leapt out of the way, but she wasn’t able to completely avoid the sword’s trajectory and it went into her left shoulder instead. In response, she screamed in pain, dropping her sword and falling to her knees. Soon, she realized that she was on death’s door. Blood ran down her arm to drip from her fingers. She became aware of her entire body aching from hours of fighting and numerous cuts across her skin. She closed her eyes, bowing her head and waiting for the sword to fall on her exposed neck.

 _Gendry,_ she thought. _I’m sorry._

They were going to lose this battle.

_At least I’ll see him again soon._

She braced, waiting for the fatal blow that never came. She opened her eyes to see the man who would have been her killer being engulfed in flames. Her disoriented mind looked around and wondered why she was not burning as well. She realized suddenly that the fire was avoiding her.

She looked towards the source of the flames, too weak to get to her feet, to see him standing tall, fire coming from his fingertips to burn the Lannister soldiers around him. Faintly, she heard booms in the distance and she felt the ground shake with the force of the wildfire caches exploding. 

_He’s not going to survive,_ she realized. The energy he needed to sustain this state would eat him alive. She summoned the rest of her strength in order to get to her feet and began to make her way over to him, clutching her injured shoulder with one hand, her sword abandoned on the battlefield. The fire cleared a path for her as she moved. None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting to him before the power claimed his life. She couldn’t lose one more person.

As she neared, she noticed the sky becoming brighter despite her eyes becoming heavier. He was staring at nothing in particular, his jaw clenched in concentration. When she came into his field of view, she noticed the heat around her dissipating and his eyes focusing on her. She could see his lips move but she couldn’t hear a thing. 

Her knees gave out from under her and he was there, catching her as she fell. All she registered was the deep, ocean blue of his eyes.

 _Finally,_ she thought before she lost consciousness. _Finally, I get to sleep._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well here it is! the final chapter! im so happy so many people enjoyed this so far! i will most likely figure out how to include pictures in ao3 and include the amazing art @msartsyace did for this fic soon, but in the meantime it will go up on one or both of our blogs soon, so keep an eye out for it!  
> without further ado, the epilogue

The light was too bright for Arya’s tired eyes. She tried to open them, but the brightness of the room she was in nearly blinded her. Her limbs felt heavy and her head hurt like a bitch. She heard someone shuffling around the room and turned her head in their direction before trying to open her eyes again. It was significantly easier this time, but the position of her head hurt her neck. 

When she opened her eyes, she discovered that the other person in the room, which she identified as one inside Acorn Hall, was not a maester like she’d originally thought.

It was Gendry, alive and whole. Upon seeing him, she breathed a sigh of relief. 

He seemed worse for wear, though. There were dark circles under his eyes and he seemed thinner than he did last time she saw him. She wondered if he’d been eating or sleeping since she saw him last. It would’ve been stupid of him to stay awake, by her bedside, for however long she’d been asleep. His eyes were vacant and she tried to say his name to get his attention. All that came out, however, was a pitiful croak.

Her attempts worked, however, and his gaze sharpened as he realized she was awake. He knelt down by her bedside and helped her sit up so she could drink the glass of water he offered her. As he sat her up, a sharp pain lanced through her shoulder and down her arm, but she tried not to let it show on her face.

“How long was I out?” she asked after she was finished drinking.

“Three days,” he replied as he laid her back down. “You lost a lot of blood. The maester said he was surprised you survived. Your fever was quite high.”

“What about everyone else?” she asked. “Brienne, Daenerys-”

“They’re all alright, except Beric,” he answered confusedly. “I didn’t realize you cared so much about them.”

“I got distracted,” she explained. “If anyone else died because of it, I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Never mind that. Have you been sitting here the whole time?”

“ _Arya._ ”

“Answer my question first,” she insisted, “then I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Yes, I have been here the whole time.”

“Why?”

“What did you mean when you said you got distracted?” he countered.

“Don’t avoid my question!” Her sudden outburst made her shoulder flare with pain, but she pushed it down.

“Don’t avoid mine,” he replied gently, pulling her furs higher around her as if it might help. “We had a deal, remember?”

She huffed in frustration. Staying in this bed until she’d recovered enough to move without crippling pain was going to drive her insane, especially with Gendry caring for her every step of the way.

“I was distracted… because of you,” she finally answered after a long moment of silence, “and because everyone was dying and I couldn’t do anything to stop it and all I could think about was how I couldn’t lose you.” Normally, she would’ve been ashamed to wipe tears from her cheeks; witchers weren’t meant to feel emotion, after all. However, it was only Gendry in the room. Gendry, who was the first person she truly opened herself to in a very long time. Gendry, who so quickly won his way into her heart by being his arsehole, nosey self. 

Gendry, who was currently looking at her with concern and adoration in his ocean-blue eyes. Suddenly she realized that she was tired. Tired of having to fight so much. Tired of seeing death at every corner. She didn’t know if she could stop being a witcher, but she’d try her best if it meant she could be with him.

All she needed to know was if he felt the same.

“I was distracted, too,” he responded. “I couldn’t help but think about you protecting us. I did what I did for you, because we were losing and I wanted you to have the chance to live. It was stupid and selfish, I know, and I’m sure you’ll take the piss out of me once you’re better, but I don’t regret it at all.”

She smiled in response. He took her good hand in both of his and brought her knuckles to his lips. 

Arya cleared her throat. “I want to go home,” she told him. “I want to see it again, even if it’s just once. That’s where I’m headed next; I’m going home.”

She paused, and the weight of what she was about to ask him hung in the air.

“Will you come with me?” 

He grinned brightly and leaned forward to kiss her. His lips were soft and his touch was gentle. 

“Of course I’ll come with you. Someone has to make sure you don’t do stupid things.”

She chuckled. “Look who’s talking.”

“I love you,” he blurted. “That’s what I was going to say before the battle. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered softly in reply. 

“Get some more rest,” he told her. “I’ll talk to you once you wake up.”

“Don’t go,” she called after him as he made to leave. “Stay with me, please. I’m tired of being alone.”

“Alright, I’ll stay,” he said, “but _only_ if you promise to rest.”

“I promise.”

He climbed into the bed next to her, his head resting on her good shoulder, and she let herself fall asleep, feeling lighter than she had in ages.


End file.
